


Might I Say "Je t'aime?"

by angelica_barnes



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Les Misérables - All Media Types, Little Shop of Horrors - All Media Types, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Angst with a sort of happy ending, Character Study, Fluff and Angst, Love, Multi, Reincarnation, Soulmates, not unless it's specified, sometimes tayor and harry are siblings in this but not always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelica_barnes/pseuds/angelica_barnes
Summary: ed, taylor, harry, louis, zayn, liam and niall are all born and reborn again and again. life isn't so great until they get to the 2000s.before kinda sucked, actually.





	Might I Say "Je t'aime?"

**Author's Note:**

> Zayn Malik - Maria Reynolds, Fantine, Audrey  
> Liam Payne - Eliza Schuyler, Jean Valjean, Seymour  
> Harry Styles - John Laurens, Marius, Ronnette  
> Louis Tomlinson - Alexander Hamilton, Eponine, Orin  
> Niall Horan - (Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette) Marquis de Lafayette, Gavroche, Crystal  
> Esme Forest - Aaron Burr, Javert, Chiffon  
> Taylor Swift - Angelica Schuyler, Cosette, patient who likes pain  
> Ed Sheeran - Thomas Jefferson, Enjolras, Mushnik

**_1700s New America_ **

 

_ Zayn _

 

When she first opens her eyes, she believes she’s going to be blinded. Everything’s so bright.

It changes. Things get messier as she grows, and by eighteen she’s undeniably beautiful, with mocoa skin and long, luscious black curls that cascade down her shoulders in waves. Her eyes are deep, almost black, and she knows, she just  _ knows _ that her soulmate’s eyes match hers.

But then she marries James Reynolds, and Maria finds herself having an affair with a man she knows doesn’t love her. Until suddenly, it ends, and she meets her lover’s wife on the street, and sweet black eyes and a soft smile and gentle hands are her hello. And though she never catches her soulmate’s name, those few moments are enough.

But she waits. She waits until it became apparent that her soulmate isn’t coming back. (Sometimes, she thinks her husband’s fists hurt less.)

 

_ Liam _

 

From very young, she loves Angelica. Angelica has known her, from another life before that Eliza can’t be bothered to remember, but she loves her sister more than anything, and her sister loves her. When she meets Alexander, they both fall in love with him in the span of two seconds, and Angelica gives him to her as a present. Though Eliza can see Angelica’s mark, and she has two names…  _ Alexander _ and  _ Thomas _ . But that’s a story for another day, as hers blazes  _ Maria _ .

Alexander and she marry, in a beautiful spring wedding of which is her happiest day, for she does love him. And he loves her, though his heart belongs to a dead man, she learns later on. His mark is burned and scratched, most likely by his own hand. And so they’re happy, with their son and their children and their family, and when she does meet Maria, it’s after the woman has had an affair with her husband for a year.

But somehow, Eliza still loves her. Somehow, Eliza still finds her beautiful.

 

_ Harry _

 

John remembers the blood.

He remembers the gunshots, the wounds, the cuts and scratches and screams and Alexander’s hands, clutching him closer than he would even think possible, and he remembers that Alexander’s hands were cold.

A noose always seemed to hang loosely around his neck, and he let it, whereas Alexander’s was tight and he fought against it, day by day and night after night. Too long, too often did John sit by the fire and wait for him to come to, to open his eyes fast and wide and then curl himself around John’s warmth, so that they might be even closer.

“I love you,” he remembers the letters saying, and he remembers his name on Alexander’s wrist and Alexander’s name on his own, and all too well, he remembers Eliza Hamilton and the news of their unborn son as a bullet ripped through his flesh.

 

_ Louis _

 

It’s been a long time since he was first born. He’s lived centuries longer than his soulmate - it was a thousand years, about, after he was born that he actually got his soulmark. A simple name,  _ Laurens _ , and he’d smiled. But when he met John, of course, he’d never expected to love another being this much.

John is something else. He’s a man, and they could be punished. They could be killed. But then John kisses him and  _ god _ , Alexander would rather lose the war than lose this man. Taking too many bullets becomes an issue, though, and soon he receives a letter with no “I love you” and no “Affectionately Yours,” and instead, it is horribly formal and brings terribly sad news - he will no longer hold Laurens in his arms, he will no longer kiss their marks and link their fingers, and he will no longer find the stars in emerald green eyes.

From now on until forever, he’ll walk aimlessly to find somebody with freckles and darkening curls.

 

_ Niall _

 

He’s French. That’s all he really knows, at first, can say, when he arrives in New America. It’s so beautiful, that place, and he finds himself crawling back to five thousand men, because then he’s their Commander and leading an army is sometimes easier than being a part of it - except General Washington disagrees, of course. But he’s Lafayette, specifically,  Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, Marquis de Lafayette. No idea why his parents named him Marie, but they did.

He meets them here. Laurens, and Hamilton, and most importantly, Mulligan. Hercules, more accurately, and finally he’s found three men he’d willingly take a bullet for. He’d take a hundred for Mulligan, though, with his deep chocolate eyes and soft smile, and his hands are so gentle when they fix him up - clothing or dressing wounds, it doesn’t matter.

“Perhaps, one day,” he whispers in the evening, as Mulligan’s fingertips carefully dance their way across his knee, ever-so-

sweetly stitching up his flesh. Mulligan hums, as always, and doesn’t ask what he means. (Lafayette kisses his forehead and closes his eyes.)

 

_ Esme _

 

He prefers the cautious side of things. To be precise, to be measured, in his movements is something he treasures dearly, and he tends to stray away from dangers. Some call him a coward, but he couldn’t care less (he does) - he’s safe, he’s alive, and that’s more than most of them will ever be.

So of course the reckless man confuses Aaron. Alexander, he was called… he laughs, people surround him, he spends two weeks writing love letters to a woman and promptly marries her (their child arrives next month), and Aaron is perplexed. For he’s waited for Theodosia, he’s taken his time, he  _ loves _ her and  _ pays _ for it and he keeps some  _ secrets _ but  _ god _ , he never knew that it was such a crime to love somebody. Because Alexander has a wife, and a child, and yet Aaron’s seen him -

More specifically, him and Laurens, tied together by names and lips and tangled fingers on foggy nights just outside the tents, and he swears he only watches them a tiny bit - just until their silhouettes disappear behind the moon.

And honestly, who is he to judge… but blood spills anyway, when a man is blinded by rage.

 

_ Taylor _

 

She can’t say why she fell in love with Alexander. He’s the love of her life, honestly, despite her husband - despite the name on her wrist.  _ Thomas _ , it whispers, and she’s always known. Who he is, what he does. There are times she even wants to see him.

From very young, it became clear that her dreams of meeting and marrying her soulmate were outlandish and wild. They wouldn’t be happening, quite simply. In her father’s eyes, her job was to marry into another rich family and have many children - perhaps, in her free time, she could write letters to her beloved sisters and be a good wife by helping the slaves with the housework. Though it was never something she cared for.

She would’ve avoided meeting her One and Only for all her days, if she hadn’t made the mistake of arriving in a coach to take Alexander from the courthouse and drive him home to her sister. (An hour alone with her dearly beloved, of whom held no such affection for her, and since had fallen completely in love with a man who laid slain in the cold ground, but a surprising amount of excitement took over her mind nonetheless.)

She took her first steps inside the building and marveled at the beauty; she slowly took the stairs one by one or two by two, depending, and with elegance and grace, entered the room upon which she had been directed - and inside, her darling Alexander was arguing with a handsome, dark-skinned man, and she put a hand to her chest as if it may still her beating heart.

She knew. Angelica Schuyler, ever the realistic dreamer, she knew.

“Thomas,” he said, taking her hand and offering a flirty wink, and she smiled sadly, and offered her name. His eyes became alight with recognition, and then they flickered down to the golden band upon her finger. He kissed the top side of her palm, as if to say he understood, and held out his arm.

She denied. (In the night, it is said, she cried.)

 

_ Ed _

 

Forever a romantic, he confesses. A way with words, he had, and perhaps it could have been made into something for himself besides a name and a place in this overwhelming history. James had many a time told him. But, of course, he had taken the time to listen but had not bothered to understand.

Upon too many days stuck up in his forever lovely Monticello, he gave himself time to think.  _ Angelica _ , his wrist spelled, though instead of a smile, it seemed as if to mock him. “She will never love you,” it hissed, “she will never take your hand.”

Years later, he met Hamilton. Too reckless, the man was, though not only in Thomas’ opinion. Many others had commented on the young man’s habit to rush in - actions before words, act before thought. Too risky, Thomas mused, and resumed his climbing of the power-hungry ladder. Too often, he found himself at the mercy of Washington’s favoritism - “You admire him too much, Admiral,” and it had turned to, “General, you know too much faith has been put into that boy.”

However, it had never been in Washington nor Hamilton’s natures to give in to others’ criticisms. When he met his One, he found her to be the same, in the one moment that their eyes met from across the room. For once, his attention was divided.

He whispered his name and kissed her hand, sparks flying, and he could have sworn she blushed beneath the fangs. She declined his offer to talk, and he simply nodded, out of respect for the lady. He also had a spouse to return home to, after all. Though in truth, he’d never been too good at lying to himself. No no, he was too quick-witted for that.

It is said to be of natural causes, but Angelica knew, he’s sure - Thomas died, for the hundredth time, shortly after.

**_1800s France_ **

 

_ Zayn _

 

She’s lost track of how old she is. How many years she’s lived… suffered. Cosette’s blond hair tangled in her fingers is all she lives for, and the name burned into her skin in navy blue. “Fantine,” they shout, “Fantine, work faster, longer! Fantine, what is this? Fantine, let me see your arm…” The voices overwork her mind until she’s gone mad; the slimy men, they make love to her and she just lies there, still with eyes empty. A man appears as she collapses, and his hand is gentle when it holds hers as she loses herself in hospital sheets and hallucinations. Brown eyes, she saw… she’ll dance in Heaven, until some god drags her back to breathing with hacked-up lungs - from now on, she’ll smoke.

 

_ Liam _

 

The past is past. He’s sure of it. No longer 24601, he won’t be. The world, though, is as dark as it was when he fit that description. Too kind now, it seems. He brushes his fingers across Cosette’s rosy cheeks as she sleeps, eyelashes fluttering every so often. He remembers her mother - so beautiful, so desperate, so tired and… beautiful. Fantine had fallen, like so many before her, but at least she had fallen asleep at peace. At least she knew her child was loved… did she know that he loved her as well? He had lifted her sleeve after she died, to find his name in navy blue print, just like her name on his own wrist, and he prayed that in their next life, he would find her sooner. Maybe then, he could say that he loved her. And maybe Cosette could finally be held in the way she’d always longed for - he was her father, he had no mother’s touch. She didn’t,  _ they _ didn’t need him the same way. (She always said he only needed her as an excuse to run away.)

 

_ Harry _

 

Eponine’s a funny one, she is. Always laughing, black eyes sparkling with just a hint of mischief, and she loves him. He loves her too, of course, but there are differences… he’s drawn to her, but he knows that it could never be. So he refrains from smiling too often, though he lets himself kiss her forehead every now and then. Cosette, she watches them from the top window of the house on Rue Plumet, and she smiles with her cyan eyes. So pretty, so kind. The butterflies flock to her window, and Marius, he loves her enough. Their marriage will be kind to him.

His Ponine dies in his arms, lifting up her sleeve for him to see;  _ Marius _ , the letters say, and Marius shows her his.  _ Eponine _ , it blisters as she smiles and closes her eyes, and he cradles her close until the gunshots start up again. Cosette welcomes him home with open arms, accepting the half of himself he gives her, and she kisses his forehead and tells him she’s in love with him. (He says he loves her too, and it’s the first and last time Marius lies.)

 

_ Louis _

 

Eponine thinks she was born to be with Marius, really. He’s such a better person than she, of course - she’s a Thenardier, blood is thicker than water and she doesn’t know how this beautiful boy has managed to make her soft. “I know lots of things,” she tells him coyly, and she can hear little Gavroche calling her fearless over there. Marius laughs, and something deep inside flutters - a heartbeat? His name burns, embedded in her skin, and he kisses her wrist as a goodbye. Cosette watches.

 

_ Niall _

 

Gavroche remembers, very early on, his mother’s face. She’d lifted his thin three-year-old wrist and her smile had faltered, fading almost completely before it came back, soft and sad. “Nothing,” she said, when he asked what was wrong, and then she drew him in and kissed his head. He ignored the feeling of her cold tears falling into his hair, and it was only years later that he realized - she’d been answering him, telling him what was wrong. His wrist was blank, no name. (And it was actually much easier to get used to than anyone would expect.)

A few years later and his mother was gone. But Eponine stood beside him in her place, and she kissed his forehead and held his hand whenever she and Marius and he would take strolls through the park. “I’ll protect you,  _ mon cher _ ,” she’d murmur. “I always will, for  _ je t'aime _ .” And maybe the bullets hurt; four ripped through his chest and made him bleed, but all he could think as he died was that at least, if anything, his dear Eponine hadn’t had to see.

 

_ Esme _

 

He doesn’t remember much. He’s still on the wrong side of the hunt though, that’s for sure. 24601, Jean Valjean, he chases Javert in his dreams, and Javert runs. His wrist says nothing, and he doesn’t beg for it to; instead he silently sneaks up upon a soldier and shoots him in the head. The bang is all too loud for his liking, and there’s blood all over his clothes now, and he wonders if in another life, he’s kinder. If in another life, he loves somebody and they love him the same.

The water is cold and sharp as it quickly works, and he doesn’t scream on the way down, he’s eerily quiet. Because there’s nobody to save him; he might as well be drowning in his own tears.

 

_ Taylor _

 

Her mother used to tell her she was beautiful. Then Jean showed up and said the same, and Cosette was happy. The butterflies would always come to her window and sing songs and whisper stories, and she giggled and laughed. Soon enough, there was Marius, watching her as he kissed and cradled Eponine, and she knew he thought the same of her. They would be married, as was planned, and the name on her wrist,  _ Enjolras _ , would mean nothing. 

But then, the bullet ripped through her chest, a pain unimaginable as her soulmate died on the battlefield, and she could tell that Marius had felt the same when he returned to her afterwards. There’s a sad, hopeless look in his eyes, of something long lost; “She loved you,” Cosette whispers, and Marius buries his face in her neck and they cry. (He cries for Eponine, and Cosette cries for him.)

 

_ Ed _

 

He’s never met such a fair lady. Dearest Cosette, Marius calls her… he’s the one they never noticed, hiding in the shadows. Down at Rue Plumet, and it only seemed fitting that after everything he’d been through, his soulmate would fall in love with another. He’d expected it, honestly, so there was no need to be disappointed.

But he loved her. God, did he. And in one fleeting moment, she’d smiled at him, when Marius and Eponine were melting into one another in the alleyway. “Rue Plumet is such a pretty place, is it not?” She’d asked softly, and he’d told her nothing was more enchanting than her smile.

**_1900s Downtown_ **

 

_ Zayn _

 

It starts when she wakes up in the morning. First he kisses her, and then he smacks her when she doesn’t make the coffee right and then once again for talking back.

_ I said black, Audrey, black! _

_ You said milky, Orin! My gods! _

_ I said black, you bitch! Don’t you use those words with me, girl! _

_ Aaah! That hurt, Mr. Orin, sir! _

_ Doctor Orin! _

And doctors don’t hurt you like that, she knows. She brushes her fingers through her blond hair and desperately tries to pull away when he grabs her forearm and digs his nails in hard, with his unforgiving grip. And it’s just another day, for her, and then there’s Seymour at the market and he’s sweet and kind and sometimes she wishes Orin hadn’t caught her eye from across the club.

But the past is the past - something stirs, a memory buried deep down, and she clutches her head; it hurts with the force of which she thinks.

Seymour smiles and waves. She waves back. She takes a Sominex when she gets home and “forgets” to lock the door.

 

_ Liam _

 

Audrey’s beautiful, isn’t she? A little helpless, maybe, but he was back then too. For a reckless poor man, who’d’ve thought? Then again, intelligence has always attracted him.

No, don’t you dare say Audrey isn’t smart! She’s made some terrible decisions, that’s true, but it’s Skid Row and unless you get lucky, your life is made up of terrible decisions stacking themselves on top of one another, on and on.

A long time ago - he gets the feeling he’s the only one who remembers his past lives - he’d be cooking for husbands or falling in love with a dying woman… he’d know her anywhere, Audrey has the same deep eyes with golden flecks. And he misses her, so he chases her across the street and lends her his handkerchief. And she smiles, dabbing her nose daintily and he brushes the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. It’s gentle and intimate, and unnew, if she remembers too.

Regardless, she smiles anyway.

 

_ Harry _

 

Ronnette’s her name. She carries herself higher, with more confidence, and someone calls her name from across the way. She passes by Taria, and then she sees Orin, him and Audrey at it again. She turns away and pulls her sleeve down, to cover her marks.

Crystal and Chiffon are waiting; “Ronnette, Ronette!” They shout happily. “Seymour’s just given us some flowers! And Mr. Mushnik’s actually smiling as he works, innit that suttin’?”

She nods, smiling distractedly, “Yes, girls. What’re you doing away from all the rest, you know what the streets are like.”

They nod vigorously and quickly skip off to join the other townspeople, the other orphan girls and ladies. Ronnette can see their mouths moving as they squeal and whisper and giggle, and finally she brings herself to follow.

Her pride is something she won’t give up, so when Orin looks up at her, she shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips. She can’t remember the last time she had luck with her soulmate.

 

_ Louis _

 

There’s a patient he’s got who’s addicted to pain. Begged for it, really. She was beautiful, though, and sweet in her laughter when she wasn’t crying while grinning, and Orin liked her. A lot, he might add, but then there was Audrey and she was more beautiful, and he could show her off. The patient, the one with the empty smile and shaking hands that often reached for his neck, he couldn’t showcase her. She wouldn’t make a trophy wife, and Orin was settling, going after one of those.

But the girl across the way, the one with the brown eyes and sparsely trimmed hairs, she would’ve been his. Had he known what love was, had he been able to kiss somebody lightly, perhaps he would’ve chased her. Her name, Ronnette, someone called from the other side of the square, and she quickly looked away and chased after two younger girls, of whom she seemed to know much about.

Then Audrey was screaming again and he was shouting back; “Stop!” She screeched, as always, and as usual, he ignored her pleas and dragged her back to the office.

His laughing patient waited.

 

_ Niall _

 

“Ronnette, Ronnette!” She called. “Chiffon and I, we want these ribbons, could we have them, oh please… Ronnette, Ronnette! They never have had any ribbons!”

Crystal bounced about the Main Street, Chiffon’s fingers clasped in hers; “Do you think she knows?” Chiffon babbled. “I’ve often wondered, a many a time.”

Crystal laughed. She couldn’t help thinking of the lace-colored flowers just inside Mushnik’s window and how beautiful they’d look in Chiffon’s hair, all braided up into a rosette and alike. “Maybe not, maybe so, it’s Ronnette, Chiffon, we mustn’t assume! Guessing games are for children, and we’re nearly sixteen!”

Chiffon nodded and Ronette came over, “Hello, my loves, what is it you wish to purchase?”

“Oh, you talk so pretty, miss, we couldn’t be bothered to ask!” And Chiffon was bubbly, babbly,  _ laughable _ and Crystal pressed a soft kiss to her cheek; “Chiffon, Chiffon, but those ribbons would look oh so beautiful in your braid.”

Chiffon giggled and nuzzled herself against Crystal’s side. “Oh Crissy, I do believe that Ronnette will buy us some ribbons as pretty as her mouth!”

An ordinary day, and Crystal once again glanced down at her and Chiffon’s hands and swallowed; black ink this time, a simple shaky cursive signature of  _ Miss Chiffon Bontempo _ .

 

_ Esme _

 

“Crystal, sometimes I want to run away.”

Crystal nodded, and Chiffon scoffed, “Perhaps you could listen. I said I want to run away, Crissy.”

Crystal looked up from her work and smiled, a gentle one only reserved for times of amusement; “But my dear Chiffon, you said sometimes. You know there ain’t no way outta Skid Row, you just dreamin’. Now shan’t we be workin’, Ms. Pennysworth asked the floors be all shiny when she come home.”

Chiffon nodded this time, and kneeled in the mess of soap and suds that soaked the floor. “Oh Crissy,” she sighed, “I only wish you could be bothered to leave the Main Street. Maybe once, we could actually stumble into Mushnik’s and buy those pretty flowers you always talkin’ ‘bout. Ronnette wouldn’t be bothered,” Crystal chuckled, “no, really!”

“Hmmm,” Crystal hummed, “well you be good and I’ll find us some flowers fit for a princess, Chiffon.”

Chiffon nodded and scuffed her toes into the polished tiles, “How’d Ms. Pennysworth find herself a floor this nice, anyway? She a richie from the City?”

Crystal shook her head and sat up, reaching over to grasp Chiffon’s spindly fingers in her own. “Do you remember the past, darlin’?”

“Yessum,” Chiffon whispered. “I remember it real good. I was a police officer. I mighta been a captain had I lived.”

Crystal nodded and wrapped Chiffon in her arms; “Well Ms. Pennysworth, she be a good ol’ Southerner and she’s got a richie for a daddy, and I think she love us a whole lot more than said.”

“My kitchen done?” Ms. Pennysworth called from the hall, the door opening and shutting and the twist of a key in a lock. “There’s cookies waiting for y’all in the pantry, lest you be good.”

Something shone when the lights came on.

 

_ Taylor _

 

You laugh. Loudly, obscenely. “More!” You cry. “Please, Mr. Orin, more!”

He closes the window and dopes you up some. Though novocaine doesn’t do you justice; it’s useless, you lie unaffected. But you giggle, breathy and high, and Orin brushes your hair away from your head.

“You’re somebody’s daughter,” he frets. “I couldn’t care less, but somebody must.”

And nobody does, you know. Except maybe your soulmate, but that name has been long since scratched from your life, brutally cut from your wrist. You, strangely, haven’t spent any time at all crying over it, staying up late at night and touching it. Pulling away fast with a whispered, “Ow,” no, you haven’t.

Ronnette enters, taking off her gloves and hat, and she brings Audrey, and Orin glares at them like they’re something rotting. Teeth still enlodged in someone’s mouth.

“You’re not welcome,” he says, gruffly, but Audrey sits down anyway and Orin’s look softens when he looks at Ronnette. A tall, beautiful woman, and though Ronnette is fearless, she seems afraid of him. Of you - she comes over and takes your sweaty hand; she checks your temperature.

She leaves, “Give her some cold water. Pull nothing more, the only cavities are in her brain and that’s not your job.” Orin nods.

You’ve never thought Ronnette to be cruel, but you suppose she’s always been truthful. Orin closes the door behind them and unbuckles you from the chair. You twitch, and Orin touches your face gently - you didn’t know he was capable of gentleness - and then he leaves, Audrey on his arm, and you’re sure you remember him telling you to rest.

You whimper. There is no pain in your heart or head, so you grab his scissors in rough, jerky movements and slice your hand off. You scream. It drops to the floor; you laugh.

It feels good.

 

_ Ed _

 

He runs a flower shop. Mushnik’s, they call it; Mushnik, they call him. Seymour sweeps the floor, he’s quiet today. Mushnik wonders if the smile is because of Audrey, for it disappears soon as the screeches begin, the yells and shouts. Seymour stops spinning. He stares out the window.

Mushnik stops wiping the counter. “Come on now, boy,” he grunts. “You mustn’t worry bout those that don’t worry bout you.”

Seymour says not a word, just continues to brush the broom across the tiles, but his glance keeps flicking out the window, and so eventually Mushnik sighs. “Go on break. Don’t get in too much trouble.”

Seymour nods quickly and drops the broom, running out into the street and pushing people aside. Mushnik’s got good enough hearing to catch the “excuse me’s” he passes around, but that boy’s got no eyes for anyone but Audrey.

Ronnette comes inside, with Chiffon and Crystal, her ladies, and she only fingers rose and daisy petals but he sells her girls some ribbons. “Two fifty,” he says, and she hands him the money tiredly before rushing off after them, the yellow skirts swish-swaying out the door and into the market. She barely manages a breathless thank you, but somehow he can’t bring himself to mind.

He rests his elbow on the newly shiny counter and his chin on his fist, and he watches Orin stalk down the street, knuckles bruised. Down the street, Audrey’s head bleeds from a small cut and Seymour dabs it with a handkerchief.

A inhumane wail comes from the dentist’s office, and Mushnik watches Orin’s head snap that way and hears his shoes click-clack on the stones of the street and he breaks into a sprint towards the building. You’d think something was on fire.

Mushnik gasps suddenly, grabbing his wrist. His mark burns.

It trickles red.

**_2000s Britain_ **

 

_ Zayn _

 

Nobody bruises him in this lifetime. Instead there’s a boy, and he’s kind and tired and sweet, and Zayn can finally rest. He falls asleep in someone’s arms, and for the first time, he doesn’t wake up alone.

 

_ Liam _

 

Finally, he finds Zayn and gets to keep him. They don’t talk about the past, because Liam used to mention it and Zayn would wince or look away or flinch, and so Liam just ignores it like him. He and Zayn tangle their fingers together as the lift starts up, and Zayn smiles at him.

 

_ Harry _

 

When he meets Louis, for the final time, his Eponine jumps into his arms and Harry holds on tight - he’d recognize those fiery eyes anywhere. They ink their skin, because in the past, their soulmarks have never just done the trick, so they’ve taken matters into their own hands. And sure, maybe love’s hidden, but it’s theirs.

 

_ Louis _

 

His hands fit perfectly in Harry’s, and their sides press together just right - like puzzle pieces or legos. He knows he’s different, that he’s changed since Hamilton, but he tries and he finds himself accepted; when he meets Zayn, he knows what they’ve been through and he knows him, but Zayn just takes his hand and nods. He’s forgiven.

 

_ Niall _

 

He’s never actually had friends. He’s always died young, and unfulfilled. He wasn’t really meant for long-lasting, but apparently he’s meant for fame. But then he meets Esme, and he’s meant for her, and his boys always drag him back to them, no matter what. Even Zayn, when he tries to leave, and Esme smiles. Blue eyes and green eyes finally meet, lock into place, and hold.

 

_ Esme _

 

When she was born, it was bright and sunny. She hasn’t felt like that in quite awhile, except maybe last time, but Niall’s hair is the color of sunshine. She likes to run her fingers through it, and he’ll fall asleep next to her, draped over her or sagging into her side. She’s not sure when she’s ever been able to hold somebody like this, but it’s just her Crystal, come back to her. Always.

 

_ Taylor _

 

She doesn’t slit her wrists here. She wears sparkly coats with tails and shiny dresses, and she even allows herself top hats and sequins. When Ed walks into her life, he’s kind and he’ll wear bowler hats just to match with her, and she likes the smell of his breath in the morning. Her and Harry’s wrists burn when they touch, and hers tingles when it brushes Ed’s. She’s been blessed with two soulmates this time around; she wonders who she’ll lose first, and she takes Ed’s hand and leads him inside, closing the blinds.

 

_ Ed _

 

It barely rains here. The war is little, in Manhattan at least, and when he travels back home to England he brings Taylor with him. She goes willingly, and they meet up with her brother and the boys and his little sister, Esme, and later on, the car crashes as they swerve around a suicidal boy in the road. The sound of metals screeching make his ears ring, and Taylor screams like back then. She touches his face and takes his hand, and he smiles weakly at her. Blood spills, and her hair is tangled, and he lifts his shaking hand to push it back from her face.

“See you in the next life,” he whispers, the last of his breaths this time, and things go black for them together.


End file.
